The Adventures of 221B
by sausuge
Summary: Stories that are inspired by a 50 prompt table. Will be mostly Watson/Holmes friendship or pre-slash. Although there is already one that centers around Gladstone the dog, so who knows where this will lead?
1. The Adventures of The Biased Detective

Um, this became some sort of horrible chimera of the book canon and movie canon, but it's more movie, with back up details from the books, so... feel free to have the beautiful RDJ and Jude Law in your head while you read! :D lol

**Title:** Biased  
**Prompt:** Falter  
**Characters:** Watson, Holmes  
**Word Count:** 522  
**Spoilers:** none, surprisingly.  
**Author's Note:** I hope this makes since to more people than just me. :(  
**Summary: **Holmes has always maintained that there are only a few original crimes, and the rest are all variations of those. But this- there will never be anything like this crime.

* * *

"Holmes…"

The blood splattered against the far wall is consistent with the ensuing battle between flesh and a bullet. The splatter is at a slight downward tilt, insinuating a- a tall perpetrator, at least three inches taller than the victim.

"Holmes."

The light layer of dust on the floor is beneficial to putting together a picture of what occurred; both seemed to have come in together, the taller slightly behind and to the left of the victim's entrance. They appear to stay for a time, both were anxious, as shown by the circles of pacing left in the dust by their footsteps. Abruptly the trail left by the taller cuts off and his steps leave the room. But that's not the last of the taller's appearance. He had come back into the room. His reappearance muffles and overtakes the previous set of footprints. Holmes feels sick when he follows these tracks with his eyes to their end, next to the shorter man. Dead on the floor.

The same place they'd found one Doctor John Watson squatted over the body only mere moments before.

"Holmes, look at me!"

The detective's eyes shoot up automatically to meet the blue gaze of his friend.

No, no: not his friend- _The perpetrator_.

Watson's face transforms from its panicked expression to one of wry disbelief. The officers click the handcuffs behind his back. Sherlock swallows down the bile in his throat.

"Sherlock," Watson breathes the name out in a lost fashion that has Holmes sucking in air between his teeth. _How can this be happening?_

Watson seems to have observed this unintentional reaction; His disbelieving grin that has ghosted past his lips falls, and his mouth snaps audible closed.

Sherlock's eyes drop from meeting those of his fr-…the perpetrator.

_Take in only the facts, _he tells himself. Look at the floor, the footprints: observe, analyze, deduct. That is all.

He's half determining the time elapsed by the melted candle sitting in the corner, half trying to get his mind working in proper order again when the officers give a rough push to the man in cuffs toward the other door in the room.

"Sherlock."

The detective's eyes drift slowly up from the floor to meet the now calm, supportive, and familiar gaze leveled at him. His breathes hitches.

_Observe._

Another smile appears on the tall man's face, this time sincere, as if he's here as Holmes' partner, a consultant and sounding board, not the suspect in custody.

_Analyze._

"Remember your own rules," he says, with that smile on his face, despite the fact that his voice is rough with some emotion Holmes doesn't know how to describe, "Stay true to your reason: do not bias your judgment." He gives one last brilliant smile as the officers push him past the threshold and he turns his head away. Holmes is sure he wasn't supposed to see the frown or crinkle of worry under Watson's eyes when he turned away.

_Deduct._

When Holmes has regained his composure, his eyes will drop from the empty doorway to the army issue revolver lying on the floor in front of the body.

_Watson._


	2. The Adventures of Sir Gladstone

Title: The Adventures of Sir Gladstone  
**Prompt: **Jealousy**  
Characters: **GLADSTONE, Mary, Holmes, Watson  
**Word Count: **1069  
**Spoilers:** for the movie...  
**Author's Note:** I wrote 2 pages on Gladstone the dog. wtf? Also: I'm not completely sure about my info on the real Gladstone, so if there's a glaring error, please point it out to me, yes? :) Thank you and enjoy.  
**Summary: **What your dog says about you, and to you, and about the things you do, and about the things you say, and about the things you say you do, and about.....

* * *

Holmes has always known that very much can be revealed about a person by very little. For instance, within the first few moments of Watson's moving into their new apartment together, Holmes knew that Watson was a liberal, had been married at least once before, was a lazy man (though he'd admitted this fault before their agreement to move in together), and was a very generous, loving person.

All this, he learned from his dog.

Gladstone was a vile little creature, even then, so many years before. The thing could barely have been very old, two or three years at most, and yet it acted as ornery and curmudgeon as its namesake. The great liberal party leader and four-time Prime minister: William Ewart Gladstone was not only the sharer of the poor mutt's name, but the ugly mongrel's mean countenance seemed to come straight from the old man's face itself. The name was an obvious choice for a veteran of the very war the old politician had ended, however: whatever love Watson may have felt for the old man, he did not share with the old dog.

The way Watson would glare or insult the infernal mammal was indicative that Watson had not himself chosen the animal as a loving pet (though the little creature seemed not to feel any love loss from his owner's treatment). Besides the thing having a face only a mother could love, Watson's unwillingness to care for the animal indicated that someone very capable of manipulating him had purchased the animal and then proceeded to leave the poor man with Gladstone. This twisted logic could only have been the product of a woman, and so it must have been that Watson's previous wife had left the doctor with the constant reminder of what they had had.

Both the physician's laziness and great capacity for love made themselves evident in the creature's physique. The stout thing was pudgy and had been short of breath from the short walk from the cab to the apartment at 221B. Its sweet tooth (which made itself readily apparent soon enough) revealed Watson's soft heart, despite his apparent distaste for the animal. It was soon evident that Watson could not refuse the animal anything. This soon also applied itself to the detective himself.

But all of this is simply dressing for the real issue:

Gladstone loved Holmes.

For what seemed to be no reason, at that. As soon as the sturdy mammal had made its way into the apartment and had satisfied itself by snuffling through the first floor, it had looked up at his master and the new human talking to him and decided he very much liked the way this new human smelled; and thus a strange new relationship was borne when Gladstone took a deep breath, let out a strange groan that was barely reminiscent of a bark, and collapsed onto Holmes' boots, promptly falling asleep.

After a few apologies from its owner and a few insults thrown down to the animal itself, Holmes declared that it was quite alright, after all, the animal was probably just stressed and tired from the change in environment. Watson rolled his eyes at the snoring animal still resting on Holmes' boots.

Only it didn't end there. Gladstone would frequently find his way into Holmes' room over the months, splitting his days between his indulgent master and the strange talkative human in the other room. After Watson elaborated slightly on his not inconsiderable distaste for the four legged mammal, Holmes' mind seemed to make the leap into the idea that this joint custody at night meant that he could, well, "take liberties".

Soon enough, the always-willing dog had become part of his experiments. Whether he was made to eat a new concoction to discover its effects or to simply be a foot stool in times of Holmes' rest, Gladstone seemed not to mind, so long as he had food at mealtime, and the occasional sugar cube. For Gladstone: life was simple.

There was nothing much too ever get in a tiff over, as far as Gladstone was concerned. He always seemed quite certain of his place and the necessity of his presence, even with Watson's tendency to bring home other stray dogs. There was always at least one other dog in the basement of apartment 221 Baker Street, whether there for Watson's medical treatment or as a favor for a friend or client. And yet, Gladstone never got in a fuss over these new animals. He seemed certain that there was no replacement for him, and there truly probably never would be.

Until Mary arrived.

The more frequent absences of Watson were obviously quite an irritant for Gladstone, who got more and more grumpy the more Watson become absent. When Holmes would arrive to the apartment after one of Mary's visits (which always occurred when he happened to have business in the city) Gladstone would be inconsolable.

"Me too," He'd muttered to the animal with a soft pat when he had let out a soft growl at Watson once again taking leave of their home to visit Ms. Morstan.

Neither of them did anything about this opinion of course, besides being more ornery than usual. By the end of the debacle involving Lord Blackwood, however, something seemed to have changed. With everything that had happened, it almost went unnoticed, even to Holmes himself, but before Watson had taken his leave to his new home, Mary had fretted over Gladstone, making sure he was okay before turning her attention away. While this wasn't unusual (Holmes had determined that Ms. Morstan had as big a soft spot for animals as her fiancé did), Gladstone's reaction certainly had been.

He let out no growl, nor tried to nip at her fingers, but simply let out a familiar groan-bark and let her pat his head. Holmes' surprise was put aside in light of other events, but when all had left his quarters, and he was left alone to the lonely apartment, he looked out the window down on Baker Street and watched as Gladstone's pudgy rump wiggled back and forth in his show of mirth and lack of tail as Ms. Mary Morstan-Watson opened the cab door.

"Me too," Holmes whispers as Gladstone hops into the cab and gladly receives a loving pat from Mary. He smiles.


End file.
